the excessively concise, overly simplified but 100% true (and possibly inspiring) story of how two middle-aged people who were really out of shape got in shape and stayed in shape.
"No man* has the right to be an amateur in the matter of physical training. It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable."
"No man* has the right to be an amateur in the matter of physical training. It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable."
-Socrates
*I'm quite certain when he made that statement he was speaking exclusively of the male gender. My how matters have changed even if the principle remains true.
*I'm quite certain when he made that statement he was speaking exclusively of the male gender. My how matters have changed even if the principle remains true.
In September of 2007 I was in sad-sad shape. It's distinctly important that you recognize that fact if anything wonderful is to come of the tale I'm about to relate...
I guess to say I was in sad shape would be to falsely lay claim to any shape at all, pear shaped maybe? I was overweight, overfed, and sedentary bordering on vegetative. To make matters, if not worse certainly more hypocritical, my days were (and still are) spent advising people on matters of their health while spending very little time focused on my own or following the suggestions I offered. I had just celebrated my 39th birthday and as I entered my 40th year I declared it 'The Year of Steve' then promptly resumed my former lifestyle of gluttony and inactivity. Oh I may have made a few, perhaps even several, attempts to begin a dedicated exercise program. I can recall rolling out of bed before dawn with the plan of going for a run, and even actually making it a few blocks before slowing to a jog, then a trot, then walking. When I would see other runners (the dedicated and uber-happy just to be taking in the morning air, Gary Hansen comes to mind) coming my way, pride would force me to actually start running again, at least till they had passed me by, then I'd be back to walking. Being a person of at least average intelligence and education I knew that what I was doing was having a minimal positive effect on my health. Not that it couldn't do so, at some point, if I could only sustain and build on it. But I was impatient and soon gave up, as I had so many times before (New Year's resolutions between 2000 and 2008, when we wrote them down and reviewed them later invariably included: lose weight, get in shape).
It wasn't until the spring of 2008 that things finally began to change. I was about to turn forty years old, was nearly fifty pounds overweight and gas was nearing the $4 a gallon mark (not to mention the earth was choking on carbon emissions from cars and growing ever hotter...). The solution to most, if not all, of these problems was as simple as it was elegant, in my opinion at least: get a bike! (Brilliant!). So I hit Craig's list, found an inexpensive used mountain bike for sale in North Salt Lake. The guy was switching from mtn to road biking for reasons he was happy to explain, but in which I had little interest (though in retrospect I should have let him talk me out of that sale and into a road bike from the get-go). My cycling friends would later make the same points: a mtn bike is a terribly inefficient way to get around on the road. But to my way of thinking, inefficiency was kind of the point, the more calories required to get from point A to B the quicker my midlife spare tire would be gone. So I rode, everywhere, as often as I could. I parked my car in the garage and commuted on two wheels using good old fashioned leg power. On the way home I would take the long if not always scenic (or safe) route. I stopped the late night snacking and began actually paying attention to what I was eating (and estimating the cost of what I ate in miles I would have to ride to burn it back off). Unlike failed efforts of the past, the bike took. It in fact, quite literally, saved my life. It didn't hurt that riding a bike is really and genuinely fun. Get on a bike right now (assuming it's not snowing where you are when you read this) and pedal it around the block and see if that simple activity doesn't stir childhood memories of carefree afternoons riding with friends, no place to go and all day to get there... I would actually look forward to both my early morning commute and the opportunity to shed the stress of the day with come saddle time meditation on the way home. I logged more than a thousand miles that first summer*, wore the trail tires to nubs, replaced them with road rubber and burned through that too. I dropped more than twenty five lbs in four months and when fall turned to winter we bought a family rec center membership and I kept exercising indoors through the long nights and frozen days from December to MArch, not wanting to the surrender the ground I had fought so hard to win. The hook was definitely set.
*That seemed like a lot at the time. Boy did I not know what I was getting into...
Come spring thaw I was back on the bike and wondering how difficult it would be, in a state known for its famous snow, to ride my bike year-round. That October my brother dregger (Greg) from St George, who had started riding his mtn bike like me but had since graduated to the road, told me about LOTOJA. He mentioned the word with an air of reverence, perhaps even awe. I had seen the vanity stickers on the rear windows of vehicles around town but had never bothered to suss out their meaning. When he told me it was a bike race, not just any bike race but the longest one day bike race in North America: 200 (+) miles from Logan Utah to Jackson Hole Wyoming, I was instantly intrigued and in a moment of stupendous bravado and naivete (let's call it braivete, it's a concept I, and to a lesser extent Jenn, have revisited time and again) I committed to doing it with him. I reported that I was up to 25 miles a day on my mtn bike and with the slick road tires I was pretty quick. He put a stop to that talk immediately and told me I would have to embrace a road bike purchase and soon, which I did. That spring I began training in earnest. When dregger upgraded his own road bike (their is nothing so constant in cycling than the quest for better, lighter, brighter and faster equipment) he sold us his old Carbon Fiber bike which Jenn instantly adopted and together we trained for my first big race.
And that brings us back to the point of this blog. The reason I rode was to get in shape, the reason I continue to ride (and later to run) was for the sheer pleasure of doing it. What initially was an activity to erase evidence of the misspent midlife of an otherwise unremarkable forty year old white guy with a receding hairline, became something I not only enjoyed and did but rather who I was. Exercise became as much a part of my life as my job or my Faith. At first I told myself it was so I could eat whatever I want and not feel guilty or suffer the ill effects (that's still a motivator, I won't pretend it's not) but later it became more about how I felt when I exercised, that Zen-like moment when the world goes quiet and you feel perfect peace even as your heart is trip-hammering at 160 beats a minute or the floaty, euphoric buzz that stays with you, sometimes for hours, after a truly intense effort. Those were the things that kept me coming back for more. I mentioned LOTOJA, that was my first truly big Don't-know-if-I-can-do-it-but-I'm-gonna-try event. There have been many other similarly challenging tests since that time. We've taken to saving our bib numbers and posting them on the garage wall. They are souvenirs of the times, some trying, some triumphant we've had and the places we've been, mementos of the training we did and people with whom we shared the rigors of the road. They are also the closest thing to trophies* (besides the traditional finisher's award) that we ever get for our efforts. On that wall are bibs from seven Lotojas, 5 Rockwell Relays, three Tour of Utah Ulitmate Challenges, half a dozen marathons, and at least that many half-marathons, two half Ironman races a dozen turkey trots and several other miscellaneous century rides. Events and races, however, are not the end or even the means to the end, they are rewards for all the hard work you've put in over the previous months. Yes even as I write that I realize how perverse it is to reward yourself with a marathon or a hundred mile bike ride but they are exactly that. There has to be a reason to roll out of bed in the pre-dawn dark to get on a bike trainer,or to gear up with triple layers against the cold, don headlights and reflective vests to run while temps are still in the teens. Race day becomes more of a victory lap than a final exam of the the material you have been studying.
*speaking for myself only. Jenn has signed up for two half Ironmans and finished first in her category in both... yeah.
Jenn's story (and by rights it should be told by her and maybe one day it will be) is more complex. In 2007 she had yet to be diagnosed with celiac disease and her days were full of foggy thoughts and frustrating physical efforts. She was chronically tired, no matter how much she rested, she was chronically anemic, no matter how much she supplemented her diet with iron and chronically hungry no matter how much she ate. Realizing that she, like her mother, could not absorb wheat and was in fact turning her GI tract inside out every time she did, was a revelation. Following a gluten free diet was her 'buying* a bike' moment, everything changed after that. She had energy, the daily headaches and chest pains were gone, she no longer had to take a nap every afternoon just to get through the evening. It was probably the same year she was diagnosed that Jenn began running. It started innocuously enough, an invitation by Emily Kestin (a running friend, one of what would eventually become many) to participate in a Turkey Trot 5k in Draper that Thanksgiving. That race would eventually inspire the now traditional (8 years and running) Park Village Turkey Trot. It would also lead Jenn to make running her avocation and eventually her passion. Eventually she would join me on the bike but initially it was running that made her truly happy. One of her happiest/proudest moments post celiac was when she was invited as a last minute addition to the Redrock Relay team comprised of friends with whom she had run but still felt on the outside, community-wise. I remember her saying "I guess I'm really a runner now, at least people who run think I am."
*though she has since bought several more bikes, still great moments but not necessarily as life changing.
Unlike me, Jenn's braivete comes on more slowly and deliberately. She would hear about an event and start out with: "I'll never do that. That's crazy-talk." later "That would be hard, you would have to train a lot, and get really strong, and really fast..." and then at some point, perhaps even as those words were coming out of her mouth her brow would set in determination and she would get that glint in her eye that's equal parts steel and resolve and say "That's it, I'm going to do it!" and then comes the 'All hands on deck,this is not a drill!' training. If I give a passing nod of agreement to Socrates' dismissive of the the female gender musings on athletic endeavour, Jenn lives it. She truly loves the mechanics of physical fitness, loves the way it feels, loves the way it looks, loves the way it focuses her mind and energizes her body. She enjoys studying about nutrition and how it affects performance and proving those facts she reads about with real world experience. She is an organizer by nature and has a mind for details and planning, enjoys plotting data points and tracking progress, with results that speak for themselves. There are those two Half Ironman competitions already mentioned and then there's Boston: the Holy Grail for runners. Initially the dream of running Boston belonged to one of Jenn's friends. She committed herself to helping realize that dream only to find that she too wanted to one day run it. When the bombing of the Boston marathon occurred, in 2013 (while Jenn's friend Melissa was running it) what was once a dream was galvanized into a plan. She'd never run a marathon before but she started training and was told (by more than one person) that there was no way she would be able to qualify on her first attempt. On this occasion the naysayers were right, it took her two tries to run the 26.2 miles in under 3 hrs and 45 minutes, albeit only by twelve seconds. Fast enough to fill your dance card but not fast enough to go to the dance.  |
| You almost have to run a marathon (and run it as fast as you possibly can) to fully understand the look on Jenn's face. That hurt, and not just a little. |
Since that second Ogden Marathon Jennifer and I have run two more, one in St George and another in Phoenix, Arizona. Both times with the intent of Boston Qualifying and not finishing close on either occasion. But we're still chasing the dream. Together.
The other difference between Jenn's quest to stay in shape and mine is her motivation. While I'm happy to exercise in order to eat injudiciously and not feel like I'm talking out of the side of my mouth when I tell patients their cholesterol numbers would go down and their diabetes would be much better controlled if they would just work on diet and exercise; Jenn really, no joke wants to inspire people. Mostly our kids but friends too, she wants them to know that they can do hard things because she has. She wants to share her hard won knowledge from books and field research. She wants to inspire them to get off the couch and move, whether it's to train for a triathlon or run a 5k. She wants them to not just feel comfortable in their skin but to be energized. Jenn knows how bleeeehhhh, feels and she also knows how heroic feels. Jenn wishes everybody could feel like a hero. But unlike other people, myself included, Jenn is not a passive wisher. She is a do-er. Be careful what you wish for around Jenn because she has a... charming? Way of not allowing dreams to die. She's not a life coach, but if you've lost your get up and go and want it back? She's the woman for the job.
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| Kelly's goal is to not run anymore... Jenn will have to work on being more inspiring. |
And it's working (at long last). In May of this year she and Mathis signed up for and ran the Ogden half marathon. Both boys woke up early for the first half of the summer and ran with the Cross country team. Elaine joined Mathis nathan and Jenn to run a 10k in August and our good friend Kelly DeHaan trained for, ran (and won [!]) the Park Village Turkey trot last month.
So (with apologies to Langston Hughes) What happens to a dream deferred? Don't ask Jenn, she doesn't accept the premise of your argument. If it's something you really want and if you're willing to do the work, there's no reason you can't achieve your goals. She's living, breathing proof of that fact.
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| "Ahhh, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now." -Bob Dylan |
We often see older athletes at events and wonder 'At what point do you slow down? At What point do you stop?' It was during one such bike race (the Rockwell Relay, an incredibly challenging endurance event) as I climbed one of the many hills you encounter over the five hundred miles of riding, that I came up on a rider who had to be in his late sixties, maybe early seventies hard to say with older athletes, having found their personal fountain of youth, they age gracefully. I told him that my wife and I admired his strength, stamina and dedication. "We hope to still doing this when we're your age." Is what I told him. He sat up a little in his saddle, gave me a sideways grin and said. "I hope to still be doing this when you're my age." And then he jumped out of the saddle and powered his way to the crest of the hill.
I chuckled to myself and thought. 'Yep. That. What he said.'
